


Ella's Journal

by MademoisellElla



Category: Savage Worlds (East Texas University)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MademoisellElla/pseuds/MademoisellElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella MacClellan started at East Texas University as a Freshman 3 and a half years ago.  Right away, from orientation on, things got a little crazy in Pinebox, Texas.  Weird fires, ghosts, demons, zombies, werewolves - you name it - all popped up on Ella and her little Scooby gang.  These are her journals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ella's Journal

**Author's Note:**

> This entry takes place in Ella's sophomore year, just one madcap adventure. However, it's also pivotal, as her boyfriend/lead ghost hunter/TA disappears, which leads to a whole lot of Ella's single minded adventures.

Ella’s Journal

Private – Keep out – or I will hurt you

June - 2015

Oh Jackson, how could you do this to me? A bizarre phone call, something followed you, and then a shotgun blast.  Hell no, Jackson. I jump into my car and break every traffic law there could possibly in Pinebox to get to your house.  I was beaten to the scene; the neighbors heard the shotgun blasts and called the po-po as we say in L.A. (besides my brother is a cop and he’s been called worse.) 

 

Pretty nice turn out you got around here, for a town that knows nuthin’ bout nuthin’.  I tried sneaking past one of the officers who looked like he was especially fond of donuts, but I was just underneath the yellow police tape when I quite literally got collared.  I found myself in the backseat of a cop car (and they’ve not gotten more comfortable since my old glory days).  I turned on the Full Ella – chest out, sobbing and making those annoying blubber bubbles, escorted by the bubbles from my nose.

 

Suddenly one of the guys come over and asks me what I was doing at the house, and how well I knew Jackson.  I simply said he was a dear friend and he called me to come quick, something followed him home and then the blast.  I then worked up the courage to ask the question I dreaded the answer to.  “Did you – is he?  Is Jackson…?”  The tears in my eyes were real this time. The police officer shook his head, “Ma’am, there’s no one and nothing other than the bloodstains and the broken glass. No idea who coulda done this. Did Jackson have any enemies?”  Out loud I said , he’s a great guy, I can’t imagine who would do this (but to myself I thought succubus , or a werewolf, ah hell it could have been Sharknado for all of the weird crap I’ve seen this year.)

 

They took my blood pressure and gave me a tranquilizer and sleep aid (and I’m sure I’ll be paying Stoner Jack a visit soon.)  I was free to go – so I ambled back towards the back door and found the “rock” that Jackson kept an extra key hidden under.  I didn’t want to go in, even legally, until all the cops were gone, and they probably wouldn’t leave until my car vanished.   I drove back down the road a bit, ditched my black car under the cover of some low hanging trees and walked back up to the back of Jackson’s house. I hunkered down behind some bushes, sweated in the June humidity, and was a feast for mosquitoes and ants.  It seemed like hours and hours before I heard the cars start up and leave. I stood up and brushed myself off. Shower time later, when Hannah would have her stinky self out of the room.  I flipped on my flashlight, kept one finger on my stun gun and in I went.

 

It was just like the officer said; the room was pretty much a mess of glass and blood.  Someone had a hard on of hate for the living room couch which was ripped to shreds.  There was an awful lot of blood, most of it in one area, but spatters here and there on the walls amongst knocked about furniture. I looked into his “room of doom” as we called it, where he kept all of this ghost hunting equipment, EMFs, EVPs, infrared cameras, and documentation logs.  Even with the flashlight, I couldn’t really see much, and I wish I had a jacket because that room was cold.  I went into his bedroom and looked for a sweater or jacket, and found his letterman jacket.  Go Ravens!  I took it.  It was warm and it smelled so much like him. There wasn’t anything I could do right now; school is as good as over (and the heavenly choir sings, Hallelujah, Ella, you’ve done something right. You’re passing).  I made a pledge to stay at Jackson’s house until I find him.

 

Right as I was about to leave, I stepped on something hard and sharp.  I looked down and picked up what looked like a porcupine quill. A were-porcupine? That’ so lame.  I wondered how the police over looked it. But, it’s mine now.   Can’t leave it lying around, at the very least it could put someone’s eye out! See, Ella can do community service!

 

I’m heading back to the dorm. It will be so awesome to get away from Hannah and her attitude and her smoking and her wads of thick arm pit hair she keeps flaunting.  Yeah, stupid, don’t shave our underarms, that’s where your sweat congeals i.e. BODY ODOR.  Margaret and I did our best, but we were most often the maids to Hannah’s psycho-beotch.  I don’t know what Margaret will be doing over the summer, if her parents will take her home.  She is so sweet, she does not like this place, and she may not remember it but I do – she was glowing like Glinda the good witch even if she had no clue what she was saying when she closed the hell rift.  She’s probably the last person on campus left who was genuinely good, except maybe for that little nerd Harry-Ari, I would hate to see her become another victim of ETU.

 

I had no breathing room to well, to breathe.  I have to stop at Wal-Mart to get more crazy crap for this demon binding.  Does it ever end here? I swear I seriously believed that when Margaret and I closed the hell mouth all of the bad stuff would stop.  Ha ha, Ella you fool.  The Eagles came on the radio, and I sang along.  “On a dark Texas highway, mosquitoes stuck in my hair, warm smell of corpses rising up through the air. Up ahead in the distance I saw shimmering blue and red. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim (might just be the drugs though) I had to stop for the night.  There she/he/it stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell (oh yeah gotta go steal a nail from said mission) and I was thinking to myself this could be the ninth layer of hell. Then she/he/it lit up a candle and she /he/it showed me the way.  There were voices down the corridor and I thought I heard them say…  Welcome to ETU dorm room, such a sleazy place, such a sleazy place, a scary Linda Blair vomiting green soup kinda place. Plenty of room at ETW, any time of year you can find it here, unless it finds you first. Good night said the RA.  You can flunk out any time you want…but you can never leave.”

 

I am quite clearly going insane.  But the meltdown has to wait a day or two until we help Dr. Hyde seal a demon away (I can’t believe I said those words), and until I pass my finals. Thus I drive to that 24 hour den of iniquity called Wal-Mart.  Easy enough to find candles, I get two dozen, 12 in white and 12 in black.  I go hunt down a nail gun, a small one with its own compressor (Seriously, not a weapon).  I buy the heaviest baseball bat I can find. (No, nope, not a weapon either, officer.) Yikes! Those things aren’t cheap and certain sleazeball directors have not given me any compensation for my outrageous performance on the night we (accidently) woke the demon. I plunk down nearly $100 bucks for this stuff and go into the deli section to buy chicken feet.  Who the hell eats chicken feet?  What would a demon want chicken feet for?  I assume he has his own feet.  I get to the deli, and Ack!  Chicken feet aren’t cheap either! I buy a pound, as I have no idea how many we’ll need. (I was also tempted to buy a mix for Cock Soup. I kid you not. That should scare anyone.)  I’d like to call up Tia Dalma from Pirates of the Caribbean  for demon busting advice, but she’s a fictional character. I suppose, given time, even fictional characters will start showing up in Pinebox.   Nothing seems impossible here.

 

Next stop, the Mission.  The Mission is an old 15th century landmark, founded by missionaries (duh) coming north from Mexico.  It’s run by the Catholic Church now. I don’t know much about Catholics; the folks that spawned me thought they were devil worshipping idolaters. Well, I majored in folklore and religion to spite them, to be able to go back to them and throw all their lies and hypocrisy in their faces.  But the less said about my parents, the better.  The less said to my parents, the better.  I’m about to steal nails from a church.

 

The church door was not locked, and I quietly pushed it open.  The room was full of candlelight, giving the room a welcoming glow. There was a lovely smell in the air.  Ah, and I found the holy water tank, right near the entrance. (It’s actually marked Holy Water Tank, in English and Spanish).  Not to mistake it for the holy wine dispenser or the fruit punch for teetotalers.   There were little bottles for a dollar, I bought three and filled them.  I wandered around the church a bit, and it felt peaceful. There was so much beauty in the stained glass windows, on the altar with its crisp white cloth, and yes, there were statues.   Jesus nailed to the cross was kind of creepy.   I thought he was a hippy like guy and here they make him look so tormented.  Hey! Maybe he spent time at ETU! I’ve had that look on my face quite a few times since coming here.

 

I walked over to a place where for a dollar you can light candles for loved ones. Above it was a beautiful, nearly life sized statue of Mary.  She had a sweet look of knowing on her face, and her arms were spread open in reception. I wouldn’t have minded her for my mother.  Just then a voice from behind me whispered, “May I help you?” I nearly peed my pants and somehow managed to knock over half a dozen candles in what was an epic fright jump.  (Great, add nearly burning a church down to my list of sins.) Mary seemed to look down at me and I swear, she rolled her eyes.  When I could finally breathe again, I turned around and asked, “Who are you?” 

 

 He began to straighten up the candles I knocked over. “I’m the priest here.  Father Michaels.”  He didn’t look like a priest.  He had hair down to his shoulders, a bushy beard, a hoop earring in one ear, and he wore little round John Lennon glasses.  His hair was stark white but his face was unlined.  I wondered what skin products he used.  He looked down at me, with my red mop tangled and humidified (and now singed) with leaves still stuck in it, a smear of blood on my cheek, and Jackson’s lettermen jacket a few sizes too big.  Father Michaels probably pegged me for a homeless girl, between my appearance and overstuffed backpack right under the candle table.  Great.  Here comes a lecture.

 

“How may I help you?” he asked kindly.   I was so tempted to tell him I was beyond help.  There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, and then my cell started to ring its Addams Family tone.  I looked at the caller ID and it was Ben –what the hell did he want (and do I have 911 tattooed on my forehead??  First Margaret, then Jackson you SOB, and now Ben).  I know he’s not calling for Girl Scout cookies; he knows he’s on my shit list for spending a whole week ragging on me for scuffing up the protective marks that kept the demon (it of the chicken feet) confined.  It was Ari who actually did the scuffing, but I was so wrapped up in being a star that I missed every warning sign there could have been. Sigh.  I hate it when I have a guilty conscience.

 

“What’s up Ben?” I say. He starts off with a ramble about Margaret seeing something at the greenhouse, something moving, something or someone being dragged.  “Jackson!!”  I yelled.  “Stop that thing!!!”   Ben actually said “We need you Ella.”  No, Jackson needs me.  And that’s the only reason I decided to go.  And I even managed to start crying again. Enter Father Michaels.  I blurted out everything to him (well almost everything). Jackson’s missing, there’s a thing hauling a body into a greenhouse and I’m not sure what to do.  I could tazer it, stick it with a fork or butter knife, throw the holy water on it, maybe whack it good with my uber expensive baseball bat.  Maybe toss the nail gun in its general direction.  Father Michaels said, “I’ll go with you.  We’ll take my bike; it will be quicker. I’ll bring it around front.  You have ridden, haven’t you?”  Bike?  As in Biker? Sure I’ve ridden but a priest…?   I hear the unmistakable sound of a Harley pull up.  I pick up my back pack, and gave Mary one last look.  Her head seemed titled towards me, her smile a bit more beatific.  It was her eyes, though.  There were tears in her eyes.

 

I slipped my backpack over my shoulders, and clamped the brain bucket Father Michaels handed me on my hand.  As I was latching the chinstrap I caught the MC branding on his leather motorcycle jacket – Holy Rollers. Ha, doesn’t that give new meaning to the term. I straddled the bike behind him and put my hands on his arms to let him know I was ready to go.  I had to give Ben a call back to get more specific directions, as I can’t grow a houseplant, am not taking any botany, and really had no idea in hell where the stupid greenhouses were.  After that, the good Father revved the engines and off we flew.

 

Only Ben and Ari were outside the greenhouse when we finally got there, about twenty minutes. No sign of Margaret, which was ok. She didn’t need more woo woo in her life.  I leaped off the bike, having gotten a decent second (third? Fourth?) wind on the back of the bike.  I screamed, “You guys haven’t done anything yet?” and I ran for the greenhouse door. Geez, did these two nitwits think I was the effing calvary?

 

 “We were getting closer,” Ari said in self defense.

 

“We were waiting for backup,” Ben said.

 

If they meant backup as in me – I felt kind of sorry for all of us.  Jackson,  maybe we’ll meet again in this thing’s gullet.

 

I yanked open the door, got a whiff of something sulfur-y and barely had time to register the snarling, drooling fangs and sharp claws about to take my head off.  Ben slammed into me to the ground, probably (actually) saving my life. Ari started to kick at the thing, and Ben leapt off me and started his Kung Fu on the thing.  All I had to see were the long, sharp porcupine quills on its back.  It also had a nice bleeding gut wound.  Jackson had to be nearby!  I got up and ran around the building, and smashed out a window.  It’s not as easy climbing into a window as it is climbing out, but I managed.  Thankfully the building was disintegrating plastic, so I didn’t have to worry about cuts.  I didn’t even occur to me that there might be more of those things inside; I was so worried about Jackson.

 

There was a woman on the floor with blood streaming down her face, sobbing softly.  I knelt down beside her and checked her out the best I could in the darkness.  She would live, probably.  I couldn’t see what was wrong with her in the dark, so I could only hope.  She was lying by a pile of bones and animal detritus.    I searched as best I could through the pile of bones, thinking how far I must have sunk to even touch the utterly gross pile.  I could hear the sound of a scuffle going on outside and the angry roar of the beast.  From what I could tell, and what I probably would have figured out as the think bit my head of. Luckily it was the only beast in here.  I started searching the back of the greenhouse for signs of Jackson, edging ever so slowly to the front.  I didn’t find anything but plants. Predominantly dead plants.  I had no idea how fast this creature could eat, or what its daily requirement of human flesh was, but it did look like it had been here awhile. (And how did this not get noticed?)  But all I found were tangles of plants and gnarly plants, and they weren’t talking.  I think I left my flashlight in the car so I was scrambling around in the dark, alternatively listening to the sounds of battle, the sounds of sobbing and the complete and utter sound of silence.

 

I heard Ben yell “You ruined my shirt! Bad dog!” and the sound of a fist connecting with something wet and fleshy.  It was followed by a thud.  A few moments later I heard Father Michaels say a blessing, and  then the three men stepped around the fallen beast to come check out the rest of the greenhouse.  Ben looked wore for the wear, with his Kirosawa shirt ripped to shreds and a few bloody stripes across his chest.

 

“What was that thing?” I asked.

 

Ari said, “It matches the description of a chupacabra.  “ 

 

“A chupacabra? Isn’t that supposed to be some kind of goat sucker?” I asked.  “I don’t think those are goat remains over there, and the lady needing medical help sure isn’t a goat.”

 

All three guys kind of shrugged.  “It’s monster of some type, I’m guessing,” Father Michaels said.  Oh, that was informative. He went over to the sobbing woman and tried to help her to her feet. She stood up and it looked like about half her stomach was coming out or something.  Father Michaels gently laid her back down.  Ari called 911.

 

There was absolutely no sign of Jackson, or any other living thing besides the silent plants.  I’m pretty sure the quill in my backpack would match the quills on this thing’s back, and it sure look like it had taken a shotgun blast to its torso.  But if this is what came after Jackson, where was he?   He couldn’t be just a pile of bone now, he just couldn’t.

 

We left the thing where it fell.  We took a bunch of photos to bring back to Dr. Mack, head of the Paranormal Studies division and Jackson’s boss.  We milled about for a few seconds while Father Michaels said a few more blessings (at least that’s what I think they were, sounded like  he was doing the Latin thing) over the fallen beast and the greenhouse. 

 

There was no point in waiting around for the cops.  Especially me, as this would be my second encounter with East Texas lawmen tonight.   I told you my brother is a cop. He told me cops don’t believe in coincidence (which I knew better than he thought I did).

 

Ari and Ben packed up to walk back to the dorms.  I had to go back and get my car at the mission, so I got back on the back of the bike with Father Michaels.  I was so tired, I nearly let go of him and started listing towards the ground, but he was a seasoned rider and had no problems with compensating, or with waking me up.  I had no idea what time it was when we got back to the parking lot of the mission but I was tired, aided and abetted in my yawning by the sedative and tranquilizer I took earlier.  Father Michaels promised he would get some church nails for me and went back into the church.  I went to my beautiful, comforting ’57 Thunderbird, smelling oh so nice of chicken feet and just conked out.

 

It was light when I awoke.  I thought, Shit.  I have finals today.  It was only 6:30 a.m. Only.  I felt like crap, my mouth was dry and I was still shaken up by yesterday’s events.  I didn’t wake Father Michaels, or find out if he even slept.  I knew he would be good for the nails.  He’d already seemed to have thrown in his lot with ours, poor man.

 

I hauled it as fast as I could go, grateful I carried around my pack with all my books in it.  I slid in to student parking with 30 minutes to go before my first class.  I hoped I didn’t smell too bad, as I never did get the shower I wanted.  Not that anybody would notice.  Or say anything to me.  I was the hottest girl on the campus, dating the captain of the championship swim team (sorry, Jackson).  Everyone would just think it was a new perfume I was testing.  Eau de Girl Power.

 

While walking to my class I spotted one of those racks holding the school newspaper and the small town newspaper.  The headline on the local news announced that there had been a fire at the ETU agricultural complexes early this morning, destroying one of the greenhouses completely.  I could guess which greenhouse that was.  Just another psycho day in the ETU neighborhood, I thought.  


End file.
